She had, those days she spent outside <br />so many visitors, some became regulars, <br />they'd talk and bob their feathered heads, <br />and raise, with pride, impressive wings. <br /> <br />Inside she'd entertain, it was a real joy. <br />The cheapest most mundane of any music, <br />from classics over Bartok to a touch of Soul, <br />she'd dance, and sometimes dance the night away, <br />Mazel and Karajan would have been mighty proud. <br /> <br />Today, she needed extra love, she asked us all, <br />each person had to scratch her scrawny neck. <br />But no one did suspect, no one was told. <br />She sat (birds do not sit) , there, at the bottom <br />of her wire home, and she looked very, very ill. <br /> <br />I think she knew she would not ever go outside, <br />though feathered friends were calling, by the gate. <br />She did not call to them, but said her last good bye, <br />to those who truly loved Dame Edna, Lady Cockatoo. <br /> <br />A few of Edna's garbled words rose from the cage, <br />then, with a small sigh she rolled, so full of grace onto her side. <br />That was the moment that our friend, our Edna died, <br />and she will know, who in this house went off and cried.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/edna-s-death/
